


The Ink In My Veins

by Antecanis



Category: True Detective
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, but with smut, i really don't know how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1224295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antecanis/pseuds/Antecanis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rust looked at the blood on his hands and thought about the three basic reasons why you would die from a gunshot wound. But he wasn’t afraid of dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ink In My Veins

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [The Ink In My Veins 血中之墨](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1252645) by [Virgil (alucard1771)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alucard1771/pseuds/Virgil)



> Basically: I'm sorry!  
> (but something had to happen before these two would get it on---right?)

Rust looked at the blood on his hands and thought about the three basic reasons why you would die from a gunshot wound. But he wasn’t afraid of dying.  
 _One. Your Central Nervous System is destroyed. If parts of the brain, to be exact the medulla oblongata, are not functioning anymore, it – your brain - is unable to send signals to the rest of the body, and hence you would die instantly. Probably the most pleasant way of the three._  
He had lost the fear of death somewhere between the time after his daughter’s death and his work for Narcotics. A twisted idea of justice had arisen in those days; and he had been sure to end up dead before the end of his work undercover. He had wanted to die. Still, he had fought for his life every time he had been on the verge to death. Maybe not very hard, though. He had besieged death so many times, but not because of some kind of purpose that made him cling to life, nor because it was some kind of destiny – well, fuck destiny - no, it was all about suffering, Rust thought. He hadn’t suffered enough yet, so he had to live on a little longer.  
Shutting out the fear also meant shutting out the ability to care for anyone, or so Rust had thought. Why were his hands trembling then? Why did his stomach twist in, fuck, fear?  
When he had been transferred to homicide he had liked the idea of working on his own; burying himself in the horribleness of human behavior; and yes, he knew he was good at this. Even though he lacked certain social skills; he was still good at this.  
 _Two. Shock and pain. When your body goes into shock, it shuts down everything you need to survive, for example your heart rate, which you need, especially when you’re losing large amounts of blood._  
Rust was seeing things again. His gaze had wandered from the bloody hands up to the night sky sprinkled with tiny stars; which now went darker and darker, until there was only a black void above. He remembered it being bluish, almost turquoise even, only hours ago. Staring into the darkness, he tried to shut out the fear that was making him feel dizzy. His knuckles turned white for he was clinging to the steering wheel as if his life depended on it. It didn’t.  
Slowly, all the streetlights were fading, too, leaving only the small area illuminated by the car’s front lights for Rust to see and react to.  
For fuck’s sake, he thought, or maybe even said out loud, and leaned in closer; concentrated. This is not the time for these things. He couldn’t crash the car now. Not now. It wouldn’t matter any other day, when he was driving alone in the night. Well, wouldn’t matter much. But now was not the time.  
Was this really fear? Was this the proof that he never lost his ability to care? He felt tiny drops of sweat on his forehead. Fuck.  
No, Rust wasn’t afraid of dying. But there was still one thing making him tremble. Still one thing he thought he would never go through again. Didn’t have to go through; because no one would ever come close again, for everyone’s sake. Some people just attract bad things to happen, yeah, the fucking universe worked like that. Black holes exist on our earth, too, but their gravity swallows hopes instead of matter.  
“It should’ve been me.”, he said matter of fact like, but even his voice didn’t sound as stoic as usual. He swallowed hard, then with a low, husky voice, “You hold on, Marty. You hear me? Marty?”  
 _Three. Blood loss, or Hydraulic Decompression. Since you need blood to transport oxygen through your body, you will die if you lose too much._  
Despite the necessity to watch the road closely, he turned to his partner, who sat slumped on the passenger’s seat. His eyes were closed, he almost looked relaxed. Younger, Rust thought, and the knot in his stomach twisted at the thought of a younger Marty. His partner’s face was pale, and his blood was staining the inside of Rust’s truck. The bullet had hit him in the abdominal area; and Rust knew the statistics. Head and torso were the most vulnerable parts of the human body, but the extent of the destruction depended on many things, like the type of gun and bullet used; of velocity, mass and the projectile path. The good sign was that Marty was apparently unconscious; it was better than him being in writhing pain, which would mean that his stomach had been ruptured. It was a painful and quick way to die. Rust had seen it. Had even caused it. He had heard that it felt the same way as being poisoned with rattlesnake venom, since the toxin was almost identical to the acid in one’s stomach. These things whirled in his head; he couldn’t restrain himself from measuring the amount of blood Marty had lost. As if to lose all those things, he slowly shook his head and looked at the road again. He felt a sweat drop crossing his temple and then follow the hard line of his cheek.  
“Hold on”, he repeated, sounding calm for a normal person, but upset for his own standards. ”Hold on, Marty.” Shifting his gaze back on the street, he grabbed Marty’s hand, which was dangling loosely by his side and Rust didn’t let it go until they reached the hospital.

***  
Yes, Rust Cohle was afraid of death.  
He felt the fear arise from the void inside him, like an old shadow he hadn’t seen in many years. There had been a few situations during his undercover days, where he had caught a glimpse of it, he now realized, but he hadn’t seen it emerge like this.  
Not afraid of his death, of course not.  
The one thing he thought wouldn’t ever happen to him again; losing someone he truly cared for. He had created a dark veil between him and the rest of the world. It had been painful but also necessary in order to survive without going mad or killing himself. He did believe those things he said; it wasn’t an act as some people had thought. There was a darkness in him, fed by memories and the horrors of humanity. Fueled by the drug infused nightmares, by insomnia and loathing.  
Marty was one of those pathetic guys, believing their own lies, Rust thought, even though he wasn’t sure why he still had to convince himself that he didn’t care for his partner. He already knew he did. The fear laughed in his face. The devil arisen.  
Rust waited. He sat by Marty’s bed and just tried to figure out what was going on inside him; trying to understand that maelstrom of rehearsed nihilism, affection, fear and darkness. As always, Rust’s problem wasn’t that he was feeling not enough. _It was the other way around._

***  
Marty didn’t mention whether he had noticed Rust holding his hand when he woke up. He was unusual silent anyways; probably, Rust thought, because Maggie apparently didn’t give two fucks about her husband being in hospital because of a gunshot wound to the stomach. Sure, she visited twice, once brought the kids, when Marty looked a little better, but she was reserved, formal even, and didn’t stay long.  
After he was released, he asked Rust if he could stay at his place for a while, until everything was sorted out. Rust didn’t answer, only inhaled the smoke of his cigarette, not even looking at his partner.  
Sometimes, he thought, while sitting on the floor in his apartment, lighting up another cigarette, sometimes, you need pain. Nothing masochistic about it really, but pain could save you from yourself. There was no way to lose the dark roots you had grown over the years, the sins running through your veins like ink that writes your story of downfall. It was all written there, in your blood, all the things you did and would do again, and again. A code. He couldn’t escape that code. Fuck. He cared. But that meant he’d lose again, and again. Would fall in, fuck, love again. It was an endless circle. People never really changed.

***  
They fought. Marty was drunk and both of them were frustrated by recent epiphanies about their lives and how they were different from what they wanted them to look like. Rust was struggling with the realization that even his nihilism wouldn’t save him from reaching out again. No matter how much he despised all that pathetic shit, it still was in his code.  
Marty was angry about his wife leaving him, about his life falling to pieces.  
“Fuck you, Cohle.”, he said. Rust didn’t remember saying anything provoking, but it probably didn’t matter what he had said. Marty was just done with his vaguely creepy stuff all the time.  
“Maybe it was beneficial to all of us, if you would stop blaming everyone else for your misery. You know, self-reflection is-“  
“Fuck you.”, Marty repeated, emphasizing every syllable. They were sitting on the floor, leaning on the walls in Rust’s place. It was getting dark, and neither of them had cared to switch the light on yet. Marty took a sip of his Whiskey and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  
For a moment there was silence. Rust put out his cigarette, watching the smoke twirl and then vanish. He spoke again, calm and coarse, “And everything ends in smoke. Did you know, that every teeny bit of our bodies only exist because stardust collided? Supernovae created all the 92 elements which can be found- “  
Marty grabbed him by the collar in a sudden and anger stricken motion. He was kneeling over Rust, who seemed unfazed by Marty’s temper. “Shut the fuck up, Cohle. I don’t wanna hear y’fuckin’ depressive bullshit, do you fucking understand? You think y’know ev’rything but you don’t, okay?”  
“You’re drunk. You should let me go before I have to respond to your act of violence, man. And, just for the record, scio me nihil scire. That’s Latin-”  
Just when Marty was about to punch him in the face, Rust wriggled out of his grip and caused Marty to fall backwards on the floor. He could’ve put up with his partner’s poor close-combat skills any day, but since Marty was pretty drunk already, it wasn’t hard for Rust to just pin it to the ground, knees on his wrists, sitting on top of him.  
“She’s not coming back, Marty.”, he said, feeling like a sadist and a masochist at the same time. He could see the anger and despair in his partner’s eyes.  
“Fuck. You.”, Marty spit out, fidgeting under Rust’s grip. “I don’t need y’messing with m’life. I don’t need you.”  
It sounded weak and Rust eventually let him loose. He stood up, reaching for his cigarettes. “Get to sleep, Marty.”, he said plainly, turning away. But Marty’s anger hadn’t subsided yet and he grabbed Rust from behind, dragging them both back to the floor, where they wrestled for a moment, before ending up in almost exactly the same position as before, only this time the other way around with Marty sitting on top of Rust, trying to pin him down to the linoleum floor. Rust could’ve easily turned the tables again, but he was tired of this game.

 

“When I thought you were dying, back in my truck-“  
“I don’t wanna hear y’bullshit, Rust”, Marty snorted, still breathing heavily from the little fight.  
“The sky went dark. An endless void opening up in front of me, greeting me like an old memory, continuing the circle I complete without knowing-“  
As if only to silence him, Marty pressed his lips down on Rust’s. Rust didn’t move, neither pulling away nor responding.  
Marty grabbed his hair, pulling him up a little, and then parting from the other man’s lips again, only to bury his head in Rust’s neck, biting, kissing the sweaty skin, leaving flaming marks on the slightly tanned skin. “Marty-“  
“Shut u-“, Marty began, breathing against Rust’s ear, then, as if realizing something, slowly rising again. He looked the other man lying under him in the eyes, only seeing dark shadows in the twilight of the room. “Y’want me to stop, Rust? S'that it?”  
There was a moment of silence, not wholly awkward but close. Eventually Rust freed himself from Marty sitting on him and got up, hands running over his face.  
“Fuck”, Marty mumbled and got up. He staggered towards the living room door, but before he reached it, a hand grabbed him from behind, causing him to turn around. He had a short déjà-vu with reversed roles when he had grabbed Rust the day he had mowed the grass, wearing the same wifebeater as he did now. Then he was slammed against the wall, expecting a punch or another shitty creep-speech.  
But none of that happened. Instead, Rust kissed him again, tasting of tobacco and something else Marty couldn’t quite identify. He didn’t care. He pulled Rust in closer, grabbing his shirt, his hair, trying to get a hold of the man he could never really grasp, no matter how hard he tried. He knew that all this was in vain, and Rust knew it, too.  
Marty’s hands freed the wifebeater from under Rust’s belt and he pulled it over his partner’s head. For a second they stared at each other, desperate, breathing heavily and if that second would’ve lasted any longer, they might’ve stopped, but before they could pull away from this certain hunger, they reunited, pressing against each other even harder.  
Now Rust’s hands were everywhere, under Marty’s shirt, eventually coming to a rest, one on his neck, the other buried in his hair. They only separated to draw in deep breaths, shivering, desperate breaths in between kisses and bites.  
Marty didn’t really notice how they got to the bedroom, it was as if they wrestled a little again, fighting for who got to be on top of the other. They sank onto the mattress, both half-naked by now. Rust was only wearing his trousers and jeans, Marty was already in his underpants, even though he wasn’t aware of taking off his pants. They probably were somewhere between the living room and the mattress. He didn’t care.  
His hands tried to unbuckle the other man’s belt, but as drunk as he was, it was harder than he would’ve imagined. Almost feeling like a teenager fiddling with the belt, he had to bite back a laugh. This was ridiculous, but also the best thing that had happened in… He tried not to think any further about everything else. Just stay in this moment, he reminded himself. Now.  
He eventually pulled down Rust’s pants, noticing how his partner shuddered under him, sending a sensation down his spine. Marty was already hard, enjoying their little fights and Rust’s almost passionate kissing and grabbing. The other man pulled him down, whispering something into Marty’s ear. The warm breath on his neck let him shudder, too. His hands wandered down Rust’s body, followed by his mouth; sucking, biting, kissing the sweaty, tattooed skin of Rustin Cohle, who moaned softly under him.  
With one motion he pulled down the other man’s underpants, throwing them somewhere beside the mattress. The sounds escaping Rust’s throat where hoarse and sounded almost surprised, when Marty took Rust’s cock into his mouth, trailing the tip with his tongue and sucking slightly. He listened to his partner’s noises, trying to find the best rhythm guided by Rust’s reactions. His hips were pushing off the mattress, his thrusts trying to match Marty’s pace. After a short while they found their rhythm, and the only thing Marty noticed were Rust’s low noises.  
Then Rust’s breathing hitched, his muscles tensed and suddenly it was over. Marty swallowed, both still panting. The room was dark, and Marty could only hear and feel; hear the other man’s breath, feel his own cock rubbing painfully hard against the fabric of his underwear. Unsure of what would happen next, he slumped onto the mattress next to Rust.  
Before Marty could talk and say anything stupid, Rust was leaning over him, biting his neck. With one hand he grabbed Marty’s hair, the other travelled down over his chest, stroking and moving slowly, as if following a path which had to be remembered. Marty gasped when Rust reached into his underpants, grabbing his cock with cold fingers.  
For a second he wasn’t sure if he would enjoy this, but Rust’s bites were already getting rougher, sending pleasure through his whole body. He could feel his heart pound heavy in his chest, his pulse racing, and his hips thrusting against Rust’s hand. Low moans escaped him, whispered into his partner’s dark hair, while Rust was still leaving dark marks on Marty’s neck and shoulder.  
Marty could feel the orgasm built up inside him, and he wished he could enjoy this intimate and vulnerable moment forever, but unlike his partner used to remind him, nothing was forever, and the past was fading with every fucking day.  
Marty’s body went limp after he had come. He just lay there, panting, while Rust cleaned him up with his own underpants he had somehow managed to find in the dark.  
Shortly before Marty fell into a dreamless sleep, he could hear Rust whisper, “I thought I would lose you. Again.”  
Again.

_And again._


End file.
